


A kitten, a squirrel and a guitar

by travellinghopefully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Shmoop, fluffy fluff, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from @false-connection on tumblr - I was going to ignore this for a bit, as there are lots of prompts sitting around, and stories that need updating, and other stuff, but, that doesn't appear to be how my mind works</p>
<p>The request was 12 teaching Clara to play the guitar - now, I really, really, don't know how to play the guitar, so, accepting that premise, please accept this story.</p>
<p>It is fluffy, but I couldn't resist being a little bit suggestive...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A kitten, a squirrel and a guitar

The clockwork squirrel raced past the Doctor’s feet, hotly pursued by Clara’s kitten.

It seemed an unequal match.

Shortly thereafter, the kitten raced past, hotly pursued by the clockwork squirrel.

The Doctor had only slightly upgraded the squirrel. Clara was highly unlikely to mind, almost definitely. The Doctor decided it was best to pursue the kitten and the squirrel. 

There was a surprisingly loud crash. The Doctor amended his plans and decided he had an astonishingly urgent appointment with a book, in the library. Probably a dark, inaccessible corner of the library.

An inordinately short time later he raised his eyes from his book to find Clara standing in front of him. She was looking exceedingly stern, she was also (which was a considerably more dangerous sign) tapping her foot. The fierceness she was radiating was offset by the kitten cradled in her arms and by the fact that both of them were covered in dust and cobwebs. The Doctor calculated the probabilities and decided that smiling or commenting were injudicious, possibly regeneration threatening, plus, cobwebs might be a thing, a look she was trying, bit early for Halloween, still – maybe not say she would make a good witch either, really, she could be ludicrously touchy.

“Make it up to me! Make it up to us!”

Cuddling the kitten in the crook of one arm, she was jabbing him in the chest with one finger. This brought her face very close to his, he forgot exactly what it was he was thinking about and what she was saying. He blinked. 

“Stop doing the great fluffy owl thing!” 

Really! That was uncalled for, first a stick insect, now an owl, her ability to recognise species was atrocious. He was seriously about to suggest that he take her to a planet where the dominant species was an owl, or owl like, when she jabbed him in the chest again and began to lecture him on paying attention. He felt it was wise not to mention he could concentrate perfectly if she didn’t stand so close to him and distract him with the scent of her perfume, the warmth of her skin, the lustrous sheen of her hair, the deep liquid brown of her eyes...

“I give up, you’re impossible. Can you not pay attention for 5 minutes? How are you going to make it up to us?”

“Tuna!”

Clara’s glare did not diminish, but the kitten was anyone’s for tuna. He squirmed from Clara’s arms and leapt onto the Doctor’s lap. The Doctor tried not to flail. The kitten’s landing really was astonishingly painful and for something quite so small and allegedly harmless, it appeared to have claws that functioned as scimitars. His expression obviously failed to remain entirely neutral. 

“Hit something?”

He grimaced.

“Good! Tuna will work for him, not for me.”

“Do you not have a name for him yet? I told you want he said his name is!”

“That’s not even pronounceable. I’ve only had him 3 days, I’m trying out different names for size, it needs to be majestic and handsome, just like he is.”  
She was not looking at the Doctor as she said that. Probably. 

Clara decided to tickle the kitten’s head. Considering the kitten’s current location on his lap, he was, just momentarily, thankful for the distraction of the claws. Clara chose not to comment on his expression this time, stepped back and folded her arms. She was obviously prepared to wait. What was the safest course of action? He remembered she had threatened to detach something it he spoke for her, so he blanched inwardly to consider what she might do to him if he made a decision for her. Best let her think that any decision was hers, his infinitely superior Time Lord brain could manipulate her, it wasn’t as if she rendered him powerless mush. He might have been sitting and staring at her slightly open mouthed, not exactly the magisterial, wise, authoritative air he was attempting to project.

“I think its best that you tell me what I can do.”

He was exceedingly proud of himself that he didn’t add the qualifier to the sentence out loud, that she could suggest, he would decide.

“Teach me to play the guitar!”

“What? Why? Are you even musical?”

The last comment was a little foolish, but he was safe from her slapping him, the kitten offered him protection, she wouldn’t risk disturbing the kitten. He may still have lifted the book infront of his face. Sometime elapsed, he didn’t lower the book. Clara’s finger (well it was unlikely to be a random, disembodied finger, was it?) appeared at the top edge of the book and pushed it down. Her face was very close to his, she spoke distinctly and with emphasis.

“You will make it up to me and you will teach me how to play.”

“Right, good, very well.” 

He would pretty much agree to anything. His entire being wasn’t focused on her very slightly parted lips and the feel of her breath on his skin. He sat back and tried to remember the plot of the book, he turned back to the beginning. 

“I meant now.”

“I can’t move, look, the kitten, sleeping! Couldn’t possibly move!”

She scooped the kitten up in her hands. His brain temporarily stopped.

“Now!”

She said it in the tone that brooked absolutely no argument, he felt for her students, he truly did, If he could remember how his limbs operated he would stand. He followed her, reciting names of the most revolting bugs he could think of in his head, until his body returned control to his brain.“Thank you.” He’d said that out loud. She probably wouldn’t notice, it was fine.

She sat down in his chair and picked up his guitar. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re teaching me.”

“Not with that guitar, that is mine! You need you’re own.”

She may have pouted.

“This isn’t negotiable.” Part of his brain said that it was, part of his brain would agree to anything, he was sure he had attempted to delete it, there had been something about a vote, and he had lost. 

“5 mins, at most 10, or possibly a little more, ‘ll bring you a guitar.”

“No!”

"No?”

“We could go shopping.”

Why had he said that? He detested shopping. Clara loved shopping. He abandoned all hope. When Clara realised UNIT provided them with a credit card. He had tried telling her it was for emergency expenses in well, emergencies. When UNIT started paying her, she discovered they were pay him, and based on the amount of time, multiplied by time travel, it meant that he really was infinitely wealthy. At that point all protests he raised against shopping were vetoed. Time travel also meant she could shop wherever she wanted for as long as she wanted. There was one infinitesimal benefit, she felt the need to model her outfits for him, he obviously didn’t tell her how much he enjoyed this. He huffed, he protested, he made extensive comments about pudding brains and their need for different coverings. Really, wasn’t the TARDIS wardrobe sufficient? Did she see him dressed in gaudy outfits? He remembered he shouldn’t have used that word, shortly after she had slapped him. He distinctly heard him mutter the word, “magician”.

“Right, shopping it is, and coffee and cakes.”

He started to protest.

“Making it up to me, remember?”

“I’m not convinced the kitten is old enough for coffee.”

“Making it up. To. Me! We’ll bring him back tuna, and cream and anew toy and you will not “improve” the toy. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He ducked the slap.

The afternoon passed exceedingly pleasantly. Not of course that the Doctor would admit it. They bought Clara a guitar, not an electric guitar, the Doctor insisted she could work her way up, and she wouldn’t need an amp. He hadn’t fully thought through the implications of teaching her, he presumed with his extensive skills and astonishing knowledge it would be simplicity itself.

She made them go back to get the things for the kitten.

Some hours passed. Things were and he couldn’t quite put his finger on the right word, fraught, that would have to do. Clara was stubborn, his instructions were perfectly clear and entirely obvious to follow. The kitten had fled, the TARDIS would flee, but had as a last resort proposed leaving them on a barren planet. They decided it was probably an opportune time to break for tea and biscuits. Clara may have extensively commented on his teaching technique, he may have argued. He may have stated that if she wasn’t a pudding brain, she might have been quite cross, he may have sacrificed the last biscuit to her. That didn’t appear to mollify her, he considered it a major concession, he still wasn’t about to reveal where the emergency biscuits were hidden. He realised it wasn’t about the biscuits, he tried to draw on his resolves of patience. Clara really wanted to learn. He would and could teach her.

Another disastrous hour passed.

“Can you not just show me? Stop telling me!”

She pushed strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail back behind her ears. His fingers itched to do it himself.

He showed her where to place her hands. He asked her to copy him. It really wasn’t working.

They broke for dinner. The Doctor knew the solution, it was obvious, well there were two solutions, maybe three. He felt she may take him removing her memory badly, and it wasn’t in the spirit of making things up to her, plus the kitten would blab. It was definitely a tattle tale, he considered offering unlimited tuna in exchange for silence. No, probably best not to do that. He refrained from sighing.

Dinner was a success, at least, he had even allowed vegetables and after one failed attempt to hide them, he even ate them, well some of them, the less green ones.

He picked up the guitar, he beckoned for her to come with him. He took her to a room with sofas and an almost real fire. He indicated for her to sit on the floor with the guitar – he could lean over her, that would work. She wriggled, his back was starting to protest. He suggested calling it a day. She looked sad. Not the sad eyes, anything but those. The kitten had returned, the lure of the almost fire far greater than his objections to the appalling noise. The TARDIS may have provided the kitten with ear plugs.

Final solution. It had to be done, there was nothing else he could do.

“Up!”

He had Clara sit between his legs, he wrapped his arms round her, he placed his hands over hers and placed them on the guitar.

They managed to master one more chord, and then they found themselves otherwise distracted. Initially the Doctor coped having his nose buried in Clara’s hair. Her body pressed back against his. When he was overwhelmed he moved his head nearer her shoulder and neck. He found his lips brushing against her throat. Their hands did not remain on the guitar. No section of the Doctor’s brain complained and he was almost entirely, completely and utterly certain that Clara considered that he had quite adequately made things up to her.

The kitten said nothing. He did question why he was not the one being cuddled or snuggled. He ignored the squirrel that was quite obviously taunting him. He napped.

**Author's Note:**

> Hated this - tell me
> 
> Loved this - tell me
> 
> Really loved this - please share
> 
> And I so love comments, I know, I'm a whore....*shrugs*
> 
> Thank you all for reading


End file.
